On the Side of Angels
by AmyFallsDownTheStairs
Summary: When dark and light collide, which side will Neal Caffrey be standing on?
1. Chapter 1

**On the Side of Angels **

**Summary**: When dark and light collide, which side will Neal Caffrey be standing on?

This is a Dark! Neal fanfiction (because I just love me some evil/slightly insane Neal.) For the most part he's pretty mellow until the last chapters. I've planned it all out so I know exactly where I'm going with this. From my plans its only 12 chapters long but could be more depending on any plot bunnies that surface during. It's also completely AU and starts off somewhere in the middle of season one.

This is my first WC Fanfiction. While I do my best to keep everyone in character I do take some liberties because it is fiction after all. Hopefully someone likes this, I don't know how well Dark! Neal will be received in the fandom because I haven't seen many stories with him shown as such. (Or maybe I just don't know where to look for those stories! :p)

-.-

**Chapter One**

It was a typical, busy day in downtown Manhattan. Car horns honked in the slow moving traffic, the owners of the cars occasionally flipped each other off when they felt they'd been slighted, people stormed the sidewalks with their shoulders touching and Mother's held tightly onto their children's hands lest they run off and be lost in the crowd.

In the midst of all this, a lone man wearing a fedora and smartly tailored suit, carefully picked his way through the sea of bodies staggering North out of the subway entrance. Neal Caffrey was his name, and he rarely took the subway if he could help it. This was a rare occasion, but it had been necessary. Neal only ventured down into the subway tunnels when he needed to network.

Just prior to his exiting the tunnel, he'd had a very interesting conversation with his regular source – Franco. The slight man who always looked a bit peaky – nerves he claimed – told him of several whispers that had been circulating lately near the Mexican border.

"They're on the move." Franco had told him in a hushed tone, a nervous twitch causing his left eye to wink randomly. Neal often wondered if Franco could a liability given his…condition. People with a nervous disposition were not trustworthy after all. If the enemy ever got hold of him, could they make him sing like a canary? Neal had put that thought to the test by quietly having Franco abducted and taken to a safe house where he was interrogated for a month straight under…not so desirable conditions.

Much to Neal's surprise, Franco had not spoken a word. The reward in the end was most beneficial for Franco. He was now Neal's top go-to man for information and his ears in the more elusive parts of the United States. He did not take his position for granted though. He knew how powerful Neal's reach was. The man could make him disappear forever, as if he'd never been born. No body, no trace, no birth certificate. Gone.

Few people knew about Neal's side business and every less were privy to his ulterior motives. His inner circle consisted of just two people. Mozzie and Alex Hunter. Franco only knew their names. He'd never seen them in person. His clearance wasn't that high. Either way, Franco was staying loyal to Neal. A war was coming, and when it did, he wanted to be on the winning side.

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Neal made his way to the FBI headquarters after his meeting with Franco. He breezed into the White Collar division with his signature Caffrey smile in place for his was in a very good mood. So the other side was 'on the move' aye, everything was about to get a lot more interesting.

"Neal, up here." Someone called. Neal recognized the voice without looking up – could recognize it in his sleep even. Peter Burke. The man who had supposedly _'caught him twice.' _But that was only because Neal let him.

"Morning, Peter." Neal beamed when he reached the meeting room. Peter glanced at him with an expression that was both exasperated and fond in equal portions.

"You're late."

"Sorry." Neal shrugged. He wasn't sorry. Peter knew this.

"No you're not."

"I am." He was lying. Peter also knew this. He looked away from his difficult CI, partner and friend with a sigh.

"Don't let it happen again."

"I won't." Another lie. Peter decided to move on. He picked up a manila folder from his desk and handed it over to Neal.

"This should interest you. Someone pulled off a spectacular heist last night at the Arrington Mansion. They made off with three very precious heirlooms worth three point five million respectively."

Neal fingered the thin papers in the folder, a private smile ghosting across his lips. "Do you have any suspects?"

"Are you inquiring if you're on the list?" Peter shot back.

"Maybe," Neal loved how alert Peter always was. It made the whole dance much more interesting. He'd be bored with a handler who simply followed his every lead. "But if you check my anklet you'll see that I have a perfectly good alibi."

"Already did," Peter told him. "You were at _The Pavilion_ last night."

"Had a bit of a date." Neal's grin grew even wider with glee at the inside joke he was currently enjoying.

"I know. I went down there with a picture of you to verify with the hostess that she'd seen you. She said you came in with a pretty, young brunette. I even watched the security footage, you stayed for three hours and that's way past the timeframe of the heist."

"Young yes." Neal handed the folder back to Peter. He was impressed with how thorough Peter was being. He carefully filed the information away to muse upon later.

"Pretty no?" Peter had never heard Neal refer to any woman as ugly before – if that's what he was insinuating after all. Neal's eyes glazed over a bit.

"No, but beautiful…now that's a word to use." Bethany Collins – as her name had been – was a beautiful woman indeed. Was being the key word.

"I'm glad you seem to be moving on from Kate." Peter said softly. "You're finally seeing that she was playing you all along."

"Sure." Neal had no intention of letting Peter know he was far from done with Kate.

Agent Reece Hughes made his presence known then, by striding into the meeting room with the rest of the Harvard crew trouping in behind him.

Peter went to stand at the front of the room with his boss and Neal took a seat near the edge of the table.

"Alright people, we've got a lot of ground to cover so pay attention." Hughes pulled down the presentation board and started a long and boring speech. Neal promptly put his head back and zoned out. Hughes was a terrible bore. Damn good agent, but a misery to listen to. Once Neal had been forced to attend an FBI seminar with Peter. Hughes had been one of the presenters and Neal swore his ears bled for two hours straight after listening to the four-hour talk.

Ten minutes into his boss's speech, Peter noticed that Neal wasn't listening. His head was tipped back and his eyes were trained on the ceiling lights. Anyone who didn't know the conman would be fooled into thinking he was paying attention very studiously, if the concentrated look on his face was anything to go by.

Peter knew better. It was Neal's deep thinking look. He wasn't hearing a thing; he was miles away in his own mind. The FBI agent briefly wondered if his boss had seen through the little charade. A glance to the right confirmed that no, even Reece Hughes, one of the FBI's finest, had realized that Neal Caffrey was rudely ignoring his lecture.

Half an hour later Reece was done briefing the team. Peter watched in mild amusement as Neal slowly came back to himself amidst all the movement of the team leaving the room. He stopped Jones and Lauren to give them specific instructions about the case before turning back to Neal.

"Had a good nap?"

"I wasn't sleeping, just thinking."

"I know." Peter sighed. "If Reece catches you one day he won't be pleased. He might even feel vindictive enough to send you back to prison." Neal rolled his eyes. The prison threat again. He was so tired of hearing if. He knew Peter was bluffing every time he said that. He would never be sent back because he was too valuable to the FBI. They _craved_ his insight – as much as they _didn't_ want to admit it.

"Well since you weren't listening, I'll have you know that we're going on a stakeout."

"What, when, tonight?" Neal wasn't pleased with the information. He had plans for the evening.

"Yea, Hughes wants us to sit on Donovan Gibbs. He'll be partying down by the beach so we're going to park the surveillance van two blocks away and keep an eye on him."

"And Donovan, I presume, is our lead suspect?"

"He is, do you know him?"

"I've heard of him." Neal took care to not let any annoyance seep into his words. He more than knew Donovan, the idiot bastard worked for him. How he'd managed to get himself on the FBI radar was beyond Neal. The man was paid good money to not even _exist_.

Peter glanced at his watch. "It's lunch time, wanna grab a sub?"

"Lunch already?" Neal glanced at his phone. It was indeed noon. Goodness time flew.

"You were two hours late." Peter reminded him dryly. "You're supposed to be here from eight. Do you know how hard it was for me to convince Hughes to not send a team to June's house to pick you up?"

Neal grinned at that thought. June Ellington, his landlady, would have given the officers sent for him, a rather hard time given the ungodly hour. He knew Peter and the rest of the FBI had painted June as a saint in their tiny minds – if they only knew…Neal stood up and dusted down his suit.

"While I'd love to have lunch with you, Peter, I have plans. Rain check?"

"Fine, just stay out of trouble."

"I will." Neal hurriedly buttoned his suit jacket and hastened from the room.

"I mean it, Neal!" Peter called after him. Neal raised a hand over his head to signal he'd gotten the message. Peter groaned, pulling on his own suit jacket as he left the room. He bumped lightly into Hughes who was standing right outside the door.

"Sorry, Reece."

"You ok, Peter?" Reece's sharp eyes did not miss the disapproving frown pulling down the left side of his best agent's face.

"Neal just complicated my day." Peter sighed. Reece patted his arm sympathetically.

"He's a tough one to deal with. I honestly think you're doing a good job of handling him though."

"Thanks." Peter distractedly stuffed his horribly folded handkerchief into the breast pocket of his suit.

"Carry on then." Reece gave him another light clap before disappearing into his office. Peter quickly scuttled out of the office hoping he hadn't yet lost Neal. The CI was probably just leaving through the front doors. He slipped into the elevator and hit the ground floor button, willing the tiny moving room to go faster.

Unfortunately by the time he got to the ground level Neal was nowhere in sight. Peter was disappointed. This meant that he'd have to wait for the inevitable mess Neal was about to make, to surface. He knew Neal and he knew the look that had been in his eyes before he'd left. He was up to something, and it wasn't anything good.

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Mozzie received Neal's urgent text while he was in the middle of an interrogation. It was god-awful timing but he made his assistant – Torch – take over, and went to meet him anyway. Torch's real name was Adam Hayes but they nicknamed him Torch due to his penchant for arson.

Mozzie arrived at his destination in record time. He found Neal at the end of the harbor behind some storage houses, lounging against the wall under the awning. It was a very good place to meet since no one ventured that far down the harbor. It was closed for renovation after an 'accidental' happening of a light post falling caused the wood planks to break apart. The gap it created was too big for anyone to jump over, so unless anyone knew about the sewage system that led to the other side they were fine.

"Got your text, what was so important that you called me here even though you had to have known I was in the middle of something?"

"Interrogating someone?" Neal asked instead of answering the question.

"Caught a trespasser from the southern border. He'll talk soon enough." Mozzie delicately removed his glasses from his face and cleaned them with the tiny square cloth he'd produced from his pocket. Neal watched his best friend in amusement. Almost everything Mozzie did was highly amusing. He suffered from severe OCD though he'd never admit it.

"So…what's the situation?" Mozzie ventured to ask after he'd carefully wiped his spectacles three consecutive times. He popped the glasses back on, turning to face Neal with an expectant gaze.

"I'll tell you soon enough. We're expecting company."

"Ah, Alex."

"Hmm."

The men waited in companionable silence until the crunch of heels on gravel signaled Alex's arrival. The tall, brown haired beauty rounded the corner after a couple seconds and sauntered over – long locks gleaming in the sunlight.

"Hello, boys."

"Alex." Neal greeted. Mozzie just grunted. Alex stepped into the shade under the storage house awning placing herself close to Neal.

"What's going on? You hardly ever send texts so urgent."

Neal flipped his fedora in his hands, a serious expression taking over his features. "We have a matter of great importance to deal with right now. Donovan, the _fool_, somehow got himself on the FBI's radar." He fell silent after the announcement, allowing the gravity of the words to sink in.

"He what?" Alex finally managed to splutter.

"Imagine how I felt when I heard." Neal scowled.

"So you verified that he's absolutely on their radar?" Mozzie demanded.

"I heard it from Peter's own mouth, so yes, I'm sure, Moz." Neal replied patiently. Mozzie scratched his head.

"Jesus."

"But…_how_?" Alex still couldn't believe her ears.

"That's what we're all going to find out. Don't let any of the others hear about this. We deal with this ourselves, it's inner circle classified."

"Got it." Moz and Alex said at the same time.

"We pay Donovan enough for him to know he'd be a fool to ever let his existence be known so this is clearly an outside job. I'm thinking someone sent in an anonymous tip about him." Neal continued. "Dig as deep as you can, be as discreet as you can."

"We know." Alex already had her blackberry in hand firing off anonymous messages to the web interface that criminals used to get in contact with each other.

"Alright, scatter." Neal disbanded them. Alex disappeared to only god knew where, Mozzie went back underground and Neal…well Neal was Neal so he too disappeared without a trace. Unbeknownst to them, a man had been watching from his perch in an abandoned watchtower.

He removed a smoking cigar from his lips and took his eye from the telescope he'd been spying through. Scarred hands flipped open a beat up phone and placed it at his ear. The party on the other end answered after the first ring.

"Well?" the voice that answered demanded.

"They're on to us." Was the man's reply before cutting off the call. He stood and dusted down his suit before beginning his descent down the watchtower ladder. The midday sunrays beamed down on him and caught something metallic. When next the man moved his arm to continue his climb, the rays reflected and glittered brilliantly off his standard issue, FBI badge.

**-.-**

**Hmm, so bit of a short chapter there. I just wanted to step tentatively into this story to see if anyone would be interested. If you guys are, I'll continue with a much longer chapter next time and we'll start to dig deeper into just how deep Neal's **_**'network'**_** goes. Also, if you spotted any typos feel free to point them out. I do proof-read but things can escape my notice sometimes. **

**Have a great day guys, till next time! **

**~Amy**


	2. Chapter 2

**On the Side of Angels**

Hello, back again with another chapter. In this one I'm just laying a bit more foundation, trying to flesh everything out a bit more. We also learn more about this empire –ahem- side business by the end of the chapter.

Thank you to the three who reviewed the last chapter. I'm glad I'm not the only one who likes a little dark! Neal. I appreciate the feedback! (:

**Chapter Two**

Peter was hovering. Neal noticed his handlers looks the minute he got back to the White Collar division. The taller man slowly but surely worked his way over to Neal, casually asked him to sit with him in his office and go over case files, and then hardly took his eyes off the young CI for the remainder of the day.

Normally Neal didn't mind scrutiny, he was used to it – being a conman in the FBI headquarters and all – but this time Peter's gaze bothered him. It was full of more intent than usual, as if Peter figured he could stare the thoughts out of Neal's mind.

"You're going to give me a headache with how hard you're staring at me." Neal finally informed the stolid agent. Peter released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"What are you up to, Neal?" he asked. Neal put on what could arguably be considered his best _'what on earth are you talking about, Peter?'_ expression.

"Me? I'm sitting here with you, going over case files like you asked." Peter threw his hands in the air.

"Damnit, Neal I know you're up to something. Inevitably it's going to become too big for you to manage, explode all over the place and I'll have to mop up the mess."

"And if it doesn't become too big for me to manage?" Neal queried.

"So you do admit you're up to something."

"Possibly, but it's nothing for you to concern yourself with." Neal bowed his head over the file he was reading once more. Peter wasn't done with him though.

"It will eventually become my problem, it always becomes my problem. You're like a child. An impulsive, reckless child who found his Dad's revolver and reeks havoc on all who pass."

Neal laughed. Peter was so very amusing with his analogies. "That's a terrible thing to say. Why even use a kid finding a gun as a comparison? Poor thing would probably blow his own fingers off in two seconds. That's awful." Peter's lips twitched downwards, he was not amused.

"It was a serious comparison because the final consequence is the same. A bad ending."

Neal quietly studied Peter's put out expression. He decided that he had two options. One, continue to pretend like nothing was wrong and that he wasn't up to something. Or two, tell Peter the truth about being up to something, but feed him a bogus story that would stray him away from the real situation. He didn't want any nosey FBI agents poking around in his business after all.

"If I tell you, you have to promise to not be mad." Neal said finally, having made his decision. Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes. Neal seriously reminded him of a nine year old. Promise not to be mad? Good grief.

"I'll make that decision after I hear what foolery you're into this time."

"I punched someone." Neal blurted out. It actually wasn't a lie. Last week some idiot had come up to him demanding that he be a paid large sum of money in exchange for his silence over valuable information. They were in the middle of a busy street, Neal was currently enjoying his coffee with a croissant and the entire situation had been quite bizarre to say the least.

At one point in life Neal would have argued that no one could be that stupid. He certainly stood corrected now. He punched the moron once, right in the nose, and then twice again for good measure. They were in broad daylight, but true to normal New Yorker _courtesy _–hurray for being on the east side –, no one batted an eye.

"Now go home to whatever rock you crawled out from under and tell your boss he's a fool." Neal told him. He even gave him a friendly clap on the back before he left.

Later that night he and Moz fancied themselves a good laugh over the whole debacle.

"_Fail, Abraham is a fail." Mozzie chortled. _

"_Is that the name of his boss?" Neal inquired. He swirled the wine around in his glass with a small smile on his lips. He was nestled comfortably into the crook of June's recliner while Mozzie lounged on the peach coloured sofa adjacent him. _

"_Yes and the man who approached you was Gregor Thomas." Neal took another sip of wine. _

"_Abraham…I think I know the name. He's a drug lord, or was. Worked mostly in North America didn't he?"_

"_He had quite a powerful reach up there until recently. Some war broke out and ended with half his crew dead. He fled to the US after that. Been hiding out in Alabama, I don't know why he's suddenly in New York." _

_Neal listened to Mozzie's information then silently contemplated it. So another drug lord was in town, how interesting. Well he'd have to learn to fall in line or rot. _

_Contrary to popular belief, Neal didn't deal in drugs. He knew that people liked to speculate about his 'side business' Franco told him about all the whispers. _

'_Heard Caffrey may not be as much of a pansy as we thought. Got some side business or the other going on, probably drugs.'_

'_Did you hear? Caffrey's got some pull now. Wonder where it came from?'_

'_Probably banging the Big T to get more power. He never did care about the gender of his partner.' – _That rumor was the most humorous of all. True Neal didn't care about gender, he'd had his fair share of male suitors as sex was just sex to him. But to insinuate that he would have relations with himself, why that was just…eh, quite possibly true. Neal was terribly narcissistic. He often told Mozzie,_ 'I'd date myself if I could. No one else quite measures up."_

_Mozzie would then remind him about Kate and Neal would roll his eyes. _

"_He doesn't have much pull." Neal spoke up finally. "His territory was taken over so he's been reverted to the bottom of the food chain. We need not worry about him."_

"_But we still need to find out what valuable information Gregor was talking about." Moz reminded him. "If it truly is anything of a sensitive nature we'll need to have him taken care of."_

"_I already did that." Neal smiled thinly. Of course he wasn't just going to hear that someone might have private information on him, punch him and let him go. No…Neal was far more careful than that, he just hadn't wanted to do anything out in the open. Mozzie recognized his friend's look. He groaned._

"_You had Gregor abducted later didn't you?"_

_Neal just smiled._

"_And you're going to send Abraham a package aren't you?"_

"_I most certainly am." Neal said gleefully. He absolutely loved sending gifts to newcomers. It allowed them to learn their place in the pecking order. _

"You punched someone?" Peter's sceptical voice pulled Neal from his recollections.

"I punched someone." Neal affirmed. Peter barely managed to conceal his amusement.

"Neal, the day you lay a finger on someone I'll eat my hat."

"You don't wear a hat."

"It's an expression."

"I know."

Why, _why _did Neal have to be so infuriating? Peter groaned in his head. "Ok, I'll humor you. Why did you punch someone?"

"He threatened me." Neal lied. "Had to show him that I wasn't a pushover one way or the other."

"So it was self defense then?" Peter suddenly became all business, sitting up straighter in his chair and fixing Neal with his 'work time' face.

"Of course it was." Neal didn't understand why Peter was suddenly sounding so dumb. "I don't run around punching innocent bystanders."

Peter sucked in a long breath. "Wow, the dapper and always calm Mr. Neal Caffrey actually hit someone."

It was in that very moment that Neal wondered if he'd gone too far with his whole _'Holier than violence'_ agenda. If even Peter thought that he was a wuss, mercy what did other people think? Then he decided that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The more people who underestimated him the better. Neal was all about fading into the woodwork until the time was ripe, and he actually did despise too much violence. He got other people to do his bidding when it came to that, mostly because blood was hell to get out of his clothes and often stained his dainty fingernails.

"If someone threatens me I'm going to retaliate." Neal replied offhandedly. Peter still looked surprised but he nodded anyways.

"Understandable. I'm guessing then, that this didn't go over too well with the person you hit?"

Like a bolt from the blue, a stroke of genius zapped through Neal. The Strider family was a bunch of overly rich people who had no idea what to do with their money so they blew it on secretly dealing drugs. Mostly prescription pills but it was still enough to warrant NYPD attention. This was most unbeneficial to Neal because their trafficking pulled too much attention towards the south of the city where his headquarters were. He couldn't kill them off because that was too messy and would bring even more attention, but now he had another way of getting rid of them. Once he told Peter who he'd _'supposedly'_ hit, the agent would look into it, find out about the drug dealing and cancel them out. It was perfect.

"It was Dylan Strider." He told Peter. Peter – who had picked up his pen once more and was scribbling away on a notepad – looked up in shock. The pen slipped and made a nice long line through the words he'd already written.

"Dylan Strider? Why Neal, he could easily have you arrested over that do you know how much pull he has in this city?"

"I know, but he's a bastard and I don't like him."

"But why on earth would he threaten you?" Peter continued. "He shouldn't even know your name." Neal did not like that statement one bit.

"Peter, I'm the most notorious White Collar criminal in the world. I'm the best of the best. Anyone wealthy enough to own goods I'd be interested in stealing knows my name." Neal got up and headed for the door. "Even the common folk should know my name." he added over his shoulder.

"Oh really, and why's that?" Peter asked his retreating back. Neal paused in the doorway and looked around with a full-blown, Caffrey smile.

"Because I'm Neal Caffrey."

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The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Neal stayed with Peter in his office, only leaving every now and then to replenish coffee in their empty mugs. Together they closed five cut and dry case files. A very productive day by anyone's standards; it certainly had Peter in a good mood.

"Someone's happy." Neal noted when they started getting ready to leave.

"I'm all caught up on my paperwork, we closed five case files and now I get to go home and see my wife, of course I'm happy."

"How good for you." Neal smiled. "When shall we meet for the stakeout then?"

"Oh about that. I told El we would be going out later." Peter said, referring to his wife Elizabeth. "She invited you over for dinner since we'll have to leave pretty soon after that anyways."

"Nice." Neal expertly hid his irritation. He had been hoping to move his evening plan to right after work so that he could both finish that and meet Peter for the stakeout in the same day. Apparently that would not be happening. "I'll need to thank her. My fridge is completely empty."

Peter grinned and clapped him on the back. They left the building a few minutes later and kept up a one-sided conversation with each other all the way to Brooklyn. Neal was asserting that too few people in this modern day and age appreciated the simple aesthetic beauty of Native American art. Peter, on the other hand, was discussing the ethics of law in sports. By the time they got to Peter's house they were both a bit giggly over the way they had pretty much ignored – yet not ignored – each other on the drive over.

On rare occasions like these Neal almost felt sorry that he was conning Peter. The man was genuine and honestly believed they were friends. Sometimes even Neal felt like they were friends. It was dangerous territory. Peter was supposed to be nothing. He was just another pawn on the chest board of life. Neal knew he had to get a handle on his emotions because friendships between conmen and feds simply did not work. Besides, when his master plan finally came to fruition, Peter would suffer the aftermath just like everyone else. He'd end up hating Neal the same way everyone would.

The Burke residence was a warm and homey place. Elizabeth had done a fabulous job of decorating the house to encompass both her more artistic taste and Peter's minimalist preferences. Neal would never admit it, but he admired the décor, and visiting Peter's house was always a pleasure.

The living room was warm when they walked in. Elizabeth bounced up from the kitchen table where she'd been sitting on a chair with folded legs. She was a pretty little thing with honest eyes and brunette hair. She reminded Neal too much of Kate. Hmm Kate, he still had to find her. "Hey, hun." El greeted Peter with a quick peck on the lips. "Hi, Neal."

"Hi, Elizabeth. Thanks for the invite." Neal gave her a charming smile.

"Oh it's no bother." Elizabeth flapped her hand nonchalantly. "You're always welcome here."

"Don't encourage him. He might turn up here late one night and just let himself in as if he owns the place." Peter joked.

"Never put anything past me." Neal joined in cheerfully. He felt uncomfortable when both Peter and El – instead of rebuking him – simply smiled fondly as if the idea of him actually doing such a thing didn't bother them in the least.

A wet nose pushed into his hand and Neal quickly looked down, grateful for the distraction. "Hey, Satchmo buddy." Neal crouched down to make an immense fuss of the friendly Labrador.

"You spoil him rotten." Peter groaned.

"Aw, he just likes the attention." Elizabeth moved off towards the kitchen and began pulling out plates and cutlery. "Sit down boys, I'll fetch dinner." Peter settled himself comfortably on a dining chair, but Neal went to wash his hands and insisted on helping set the table.

Dinner was a huge success. Peter loved it when El boycotted the more fancy dishes and simply made normal, homey meals. Roast chicken with potato salad, peas and freshly baked, buttery biscuits went down without a fuss. Desert was lemon meringue pie.

All three of them kept up a running conversation with Elizabeth picking most of the topics since she knew Neal and Peter didn't have much in common, and tended to talk over one another with not a care in the world.

By the end of the meal everyone was stuffed, comfortable and decidedly lazy. Lounging on the sofa, Neal contently clasped his hands over his full stomach and leaned his head back against the soft fabric. _'This is not good, you're far too comfortable with these people'_ his mind told him. Neal was too relaxed to argue with himself so he ignored the warning.

From under slightly hooded eyes Neal watched Peter sit on the opposite couch while El curled up beside him. The dishes were still on the table but no one made a move to clear it. The only sound in the room was the steady ticking of the clock. Neal kicked his shoes off to curl his legs under himself.

Satchmo lay down beside the couch his owners were on and licked Peter's hand expectantly. Peter absentmindedly started petting him. El opened a book and began reading. It was all too…family like. It felt too close. Warning bells sounded in Neal's mind again but he still ignored them. He was suddenly quite sleepy. One minute later he fell asleep most unexpectedly.

Unbeknownst to him, the Burke's glanced him way as soon as his breathing evened out. "He's asleep," El whispered to Peter. "That's so cute."

Peter studied Neal with fatherly eyes. "Sometimes I look back on all the things he's done…all the tings that could have so easily been prevented had he just had a firm hand growing up…" Peter trailed off. He didn't need to finish his sentence. El already knew how he felt about the young conman. He'd confessed his deepest feelings to her a long time ago over a bottle of beer while he was still chasing Neal.

_**-Seven years ago-**_

'_What he needs is a father to set him straight.' Peter declared to no one in particular. The Burke kitchen looked like a minefield of Neal Caffrey pictures just exploded. All around the room, pictures of Neal, notes on where he'd been, whiteboards with speculations of his movements and security camera sightings filled the space. El was in the kitchen getting Peter another beer. She wandered back out with an amused smile and handed it to him. _

'_I suppose you think you're the man for the job then.' She teased. Peter fell silent for so long that El tipped her head to the side._

'_Peter?'_

_Peter took a long swig of beer. He placed the glass bottle on the table, glanced at Neal's photos and then back to El._

"_Sometimes it feels that way." He said finally. At El's surprised look he hastened to explain. "It's weird hun. I know he's a conman, I know he's a thief and I know he probably would con me in a second if he could."_

"_He already is." Elizabeth reminded him. Peter nodded._

"_Right, but despite all that…I…well sometimes I wish I'd met him earlier than this. Maybe if he'd started pulling cons from when he was…a young teen…maybe I could have you know…" Peter awkwardly trailed off. He was so terrible with words. _

"_Could have taken him in, shown him the ropes?" El finished for him. Peter sighed. _

"_Weird, I know." _

"_It is not." El said firmly. "You, Peter Burke." She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, "Are a kind and understanding man. There's nothing wrong about that."_

Coming back to the present, Peter smiled to realize just how much stronger his paternal feelings over Neal were. He _wanted _to look out for the younger man, wanted to give him advice, help him realize his mistakes and set him on track for a new future. He wanted to give him that chance. If only Neal would let him…

"Do you think it's all just one big con?" Elizabeth spoke up suddenly. "Him wanting this deal and working on cases with you?" Her voice was so quiet Peter almost didn't hear her. He gave her question great thought.

"It could be." He finally allowed. "And it could not be. With Neal, there's really no way to tell."

"I think he wants something he thinks he'll never have so he's going to compensate for it in any way he can." Elizabeth turned her attention back to her book. "I think somewhere in there he's a good man. He just can't stop being a con."

"Can't stop?" Peter echoed. "Anyone can stop something El, if they truly want to." El closed her book and turned slowly to face Peter, still resting her head on his shoulder.

"Peter, hun…for all that you know about Neal you fail to realize one very important thing."

"And that is?"

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "He's a sociopath. A docile one yes, but still a sociopath nonetheless – and you can't change that about someone."

Peter was at a loss for words. He gawked at El for a good minute. Neal was a what? No… El was clearly misinformed.

"El. Honey." He began.

"No, Peter, don't try to rationalize anything here." El continued in her quiet voice. "The media has misconstrued what a sociopath is so much that everyone instantly assumes it's a bad thing right away, and that they're all vicious killers and the works. It's ridiculous and you know Neal is not a raving lunatic. To be a sociopath simply means you don't feel _remorse_ for any bad things you've done. You _know_ that, and you also know Neal _isn't_ sorry for anything he's done. He might understand what he did wrong when you explain it to him in a logical way that clearly points out what society deems right from wrong, but the emotional connection is lacking. He doesn't _feel_ it so much as his brain may understand the concept." Peter silently took in El's words. She did have a point. And he already knew the difference between sociopaths and psychopaths having taken the mandatory training course at Quantico.

Neal conned people without a care in the world, was overly charming, used others to get his bidding done and lied while looking people in the eyes – all without remorse. The more Peter thought about it, the more he realised that El was right.

"Besides, corrupt business men and politicians are the worst sociopaths. That's common knowledge." El returned to her book. "It's not the end of the world to realize that Neal falls into that category, Peter. He still has a conscience, whether he wants to admit that to himself or not."

"I know." Peter nodded slowly, the realization still sinking in. "I know." He eyed Neal's sleeping form once more. For many long minutes he argued with himself and his conflicted feelings. Finally, he released a long breath. "It doesn't change a thing." He said.

El, still reading her book, just smiled.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

Peter woke Neal an hour later. "Hey, come on, stakeout time." He said while shaking the younger man's shoulder. Neal grumbled something and batted his hand away. Peter grinned. He flicked Neal's ear. "Come on, buddy, wake up."

Neal finally sat up, looking irritable. For a moment Peter saw panic flash through his brilliant blue eyes, but it was gone before he could even convince himself it had ever been there.

"Peter, guess I fell asleep. How silly of me."

"Not silly at all, dinner was delicious. I was satisfied enough to pass out myself."

"I'll take that as a compliment!" El called from the kitchen where she was scrubbing away at the dishes. Neal put on his Caffrey smile.

"Dinner really was good." He agreed, stretching like a cat before getting up off the sofa. Peter handed him his coat.

"El used the leftover chicken to make sandwiches for later too." He added happily.

"For later? Just how long are we going to be on this stakeout?" Neal checked his phone for the time. He really ought to start wearing a watch. "It's barely eight-thirty. You planning on spending the entire night out?"

"We'll stay out as late as Donovan does and then follow him home and wait there." Peter replied. Neal stifled a groan. God his plans were completely shot to hell. He might as well cancel. When Peter wasn't looking, Neal fired off a text to Moz telling him to cancel his evening appointment reschedule another in two days.

"Well boys, here you go." El strode out of the kitchen holding two brown paper bags filled to the brim with sandwiches, chips and cookies. She also handed them both two bottles of water each. "Be safe." She kissed Peter goodbye and surprised Neal by pecking his cheek too.

"We will, honey." Peter was already out the door. Neal suddenly felt awkward, having no idea how to respond to the display of motherly affection. El seemed to understand. She grabbed his wrist and squeezed it slightly. With a grin, she whirled around and returned to the kitchen.

Neal hastened after Peter, a million to one thoughts racing through his mind. _'Not good, not good.'_ His mind screamed. _'You're in __**way too deep**__.'_

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

The stakeout was dull. Donovan had not yet shown up at the club and Neal was tired of _nothing_ happening. Following headquarters order, Peter parked the surveillance van two blocks away. The screens were all up and running clearly showing the clubs front and back doors and general vicinity – but _nothing_ was happening. "Peter, this is boring." Neal said for the umpteenth time. Peter, calm and patient as ever – or pretending to be – merely turned a page in the file he was reading and repeated.

"Stakeouts are always lame until something happens. Just be patient."

Neal made a small noise and shifted in his chair. He was so tired of sitting still. His ass had even fallen asleep he was sure. Two hours, and not a peep from Donovan.

"I want something to happen now." He complained.

"Neal, cut it out."

"I have nothing to cut out." Neal shot back petulantly.

"Ok then shut up." Peter snapped, finally becoming exasperated.

"Peter, you wound me." Neal allowed a tiny bit of false hurt to creep into his voice. It did the trick. Peter closed his file and sighed.

"Sorry, just…stop being annoying."

"But I'm an annoying person, I have an annoying demeanour." Neal said earnestly. "You always say so, Peter, so how can I stop being annoying if its simply in my nature to annoy and be an annoying person? Because annoyingly enough, one can't just change behavior that comes naturally, even if it's annoying to other people, its just as annoying for annoying people to be told to stop being annoying."

Peter had never before thought it possible to use annoying so many times in one sentence. Only Neal. He shook his head trying to conceal his amused smile.

"Ok, Neal. Ok."

They lapsed into comfortable silence after that. Neal quickly became bored now that he wasn't poking fun at Peter anymore. He knew his handler would not indulge him with more banter because he was well aware that Neal had been acting out on purpose.

Instead of playing the fool, Neal decided to focus on the real situation at hand. If they spotted Donovan then what would he do? He had a van waiting at the end of the street for a fast get away, but what if Donovan was indeed working for the other side? He wouldn't come quietly and any sort of ruckus would make Peter ask questions.

Since Donovan Gibbs technically didn't even _exist_, the FBI would find nothing when they looked seriously into him. No medical records, no fingerprints from air travel, no birth certificate – nothing. It would all look far too suspicious and probably bring on a full-scale investigation of sorts.

Another hour passed and Neal became fully submerged in his mind, thinking about many different things at once. Peter snacked on his sandwich occasionally glancing Neal's way to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep again.

"Bingo!" the agent yelled suddenly. Neal, thoroughly startled out of his thoughts, shot upright in his seat so fast that his feet caused a loud booming noise to echo from the van floor. Peter laughed at his fright.

"God, Neal sorry."

Neal pretended to nonchalantly dust nonexistent particles off his suit. "I wasn't scared, I just had a mild stroke." Peter cracked up again.

"Sure." He grinned, and then pointed at the screen. "Look, Donovan's arrived." Neal quickly turned his gaze to where Peter was pointing. He stared in silent shock, which then turned to panic, which then turned into annoyance, and finally fully blown anger.

It took every ounce of Neal's well-practiced restraint to not lose his composure. "I see." He snapped a quick shot of the screen with his phone when Peter wasn't looking. In one fluid moment Neal was on his feet.

"Peter if you'll excuse me I have something to attend to." Before Peter could protest, Neal was out of the van and striding purposefully towards the opposite end of the street. H whipped out his phone to email Mozzie and Alex the picture he'd taken.

'_This is the so-called 'Donovan' the FBI has on their radar. Unless our guy got major plastic surgery, I'd say we're about to find his body dumped somewhere.'_

Their responses were swift. Alex sending a simple 'Wtf' that made Neal roll his eyes, and Mozzie actually offering up useful information.

Two: I know that guy; he works for the Syslin Family.

Three: He's kinda hot.

Neal huffed at Alex's second useless text.

One: Alex, don't reply if you have nothing of importance to say.

Three: Is it useful if I tell you I'm one block from your location?

One: Are you the anonymous driver I hired online?

Three: Score one for you.

One: I'm impressed; find me at the back of the club in ten. There's a blind spot from the van behind the potted plants, stay there.

Three: Gotcha

Neal stuffed his phone back into his inner suit pocket and headed for the van once more. Peter looked majorly pissed off when he popped back in.

"What the hell, Neal. You can't just go running off like that randomly in the middle of a stakeout!"

"Nature called." Neal fibbed. Peter blinked.

"You lie."

"Absolutely not, I went and took a piss right by the lamppost at the other side of the street." Neal hurriedly sent up a quick prayer that Peter would not go looking by the lamppost for piss stains just to prove a point. Firstly because it was rare for Neal to be so crude, and secondly, if Peter actually did go to look that would just be disturbing. Luckily Peter clearly had the same train of thought.

"Fine, but sit down now and don't move another muscle."

"I think I should go talk to Donovan." Neal replied, not making a move from his position.

"No." Pete pointed at the chair next to him. "Sit."

"Peter," Neal purposefully took a step in the wrong direction. "Just let me handle this. I know what I'm doing." He ducked out of the van again before Peter could speak. Neal barely managed to control his laughter when a string of expletives followed in his wake. Peter had such a dirty mouth. Neal could only wonder what Elizabeth would think if she ever heard how much her husband really swore.

Free to roam anywhere, Neal walked to the two blocks to the club at a leisurely pace. Peter was stuck in the van because someone had to monitor the screens and he wouldn't call for backup because unwanted police cars would generate a fuss.

He arrived with two minutes to spare so he amused himself by flirting with random women, all the while keeping an eye on _'Donovan.'_ When exactly ten minutes had passed Neal headed towards the back of the club. True to her word, Alex was there dressed in all black.

"Hey, you." She smiled, kicking a heeled boot back against the wall.

"Could you not have worn shoes that would create a little less noise?" Neal wondered. From memory, he mapped out where the van cameras were displaying. Deciding that Peter wouldn't see him if he crept around the concrete wall and stepped over to Alex, Neal did just that.

"These boots complete the outfit, I'll have you know." Alex huffed. "Besides, there's rubber backing on the heels, they don't make a sound."

"Stealthy." Neal smiled slightly. "Alex, I'm starting to think you may not be such an idiot again."

"As if you ever thought that." Alex rolled her eyes. "So what's the plan?"

"We abduct this imposter and interrogate him. He'll tell us where the real Donovan is and who he's working for."

"Any genius ideas on how we're going to abduct him in the middle of a crowed club while there's a surveillance van parked two blocks away?"

"A few." Neal thought quickly. "Do you have any smoke bombs on you?"

"Always prepared." Alex dug into her pocket and brought out a handful of tiny lipsticks. Despite their unassuming appearance they actually produced foul smelling smog that could run anyone with a nose away for miles.

"Perfect, you know what to do then. The camera's can only see what's happening on the outdoor deck, back and front doors. Stay inside and you'll be fine. The point is to create a diversion while I nab Donovan."

"Yes, sir!" Alex gave a fake salute.

"Good grief." Neal turned around and went back the way he came. "Follow-hither." Alex scrambled after him. After safety seeing her through the back door Neal went to stake out the imposter. Fake Donovan was over by the wet bar laughing up a storm with the ladies. He wasn't even that good looking, Neal couldn't possibly see what the women saw in him.

Out the corner of his eye he spotted Alex hugging the wall as she discreetly made her way around the room, placing her lipstick bombs in strategic places. When the last one was placed in the crevice of a plant pot, she gave him the thumbs up then flashed three fingers to insinuate that they had that amount of time left before the bombs blew their stinking concoction.

It was go time. Neal hunkered down and crept along the floor until he reached the bar stool Donovan was sitting on. Alex, at that very moment, made a great show of pretending to faint. The entire room looked her way, everyone interested to see what the commotion was all about. Neal used that opportunity to grab the imposter's ankle. The startled man looked down immediately. His eyes widened when he saw Neal in his crouched position, pointing a shiny looking revolver right at his face.

"Move and I'll blow your brains out." Neal said quietly. The man just stared at him. "One of my buddies is on the other side of the room aiming for the back of your head too, so do exactly as I say and you'll be fine."

The imposter was either too scared of too stupid to look around and confirm Neal's bluff. "Stand up slowly." Neal directed. The man did as he was told. Neal stood up at the same time as him, successfully using the imposter's movements to mask his own. He pressed the head of the gun into the man's back, standing close enough that his open suit jacket would hide the offensive weapon. "In a few moments several smoke bombs are going to go off, and while everyone is running around in confusion, we're going to head for the back door, got it?"

The man tensed. "And if I don't?"

"We'll see just how pretty the insides of your head look on the walls." Neal growled. The threat worked. The man, now seeing just how serious Neal was, allowed his shoulders to slump in submission.

"They warned me about you, you know." Neal's ears perked up in interest.

"They who?"

"The people who know who you really are." Came the vague reply. Neal frowned. That didn't sound too good. "They said you've got everyone fooled thinking you're some Robin Hood esque criminal but you're really just insane. I think they were right."

"Hey I could be Robin Hood." Neal said cheerfully, right as the smoke bombs went off. "But insane I most certainly am not. Now there's our cue, come along." Through the mass of people running for the front exit, holding their noses for dear life, Neal poked and prodded the imposter until they reached the back door. It was slow going, and sometimes people fell right in their pathway – but they made it eventually.

"Phew, what a stink." Neal gagged the minute they were outside. He dragged Donovan's imposter to the camera blind spots and around the concrete wall. The man looked a bit ill from the smoke too.

"I gotta tell ya, if you wanted to kill me you could have just left me in there. That was without a doubt the worst garbage I have ever smelt." Neal was amused with the man's sense of humor and how he could even make a joke considering he was being held at gunpoint.

"How enlightening to know." Neal held the gun higher between the man's eyes. "Turn around and start walking." Fake Donovan did as he was told. Neal knew by now that Peter had probably already called for backup and a fire brigade seeing as the smoke was now drifting through all the club windows. He'd have to think of a good excuse on his way back to make up for his absence.

Neal directed the man through gates and unto the quiet back road. The walked down the block to where Alex's black van was parked and hid in the shadows. Not a minute later, Alex herself appeared.

"Took you long enough." Neal greeted casually.

"Yea well some perv made a grab for my boobs as soon as I fell over. Had to teach him a lesson about that."

"You pretended to faint in a club, can't expect anything less." Neal laughed, shoving the imposter into the trunk. Alex produced some rope from the van's glove compartment to tie him up. She expertly bound his hands behind his back, then his feet, then connected both those knots together with another long string. He had to lie on his side because of this. It didn't look comfortable at all but that only amused Neal all the more.

"Take him to interrogation B." Neal instructed Alex. "Tell Moz to meet you there, then get as much info out of him as possible."

"And if I refuse to talk?" the man cut in.

"Then you die." Neal snapped. "Tape his mouth too." He added to Alex.

"I love your sadistic side." Alex purred. "It's dangerously sexy, Neal."

"And completely off-limits to you." Neal smirked. Alex pretended to be hurt.

"You should be nicer to me, I'm on your side here."

Neal gave her behind a quick pat. "I know." Alex blushed slightly. For all her play flirting she did really like Neal, even though his heart was supposedly fully into Kate. She knew he would never see her in a romantic way ever again, but a girl could hope.

"Where did you get the gun?" Alex inquired while closing one van door.

"It's mine." Neal smiled fondly at the tiny revolver.

"Been a long time since you carried a gun." Alex said in surprise. "Usually you just nick one from the nearest security guard. How on earth did Peter not notice you were packing?"

"You're not the only one who modifies their shoes." Neal told her smugly. He lifted his left foot and removed the sole of the shoe to expose a hollowed out center in the exact shape of the revolver.

"Neeeaaaalllll, I love it." Alex laughed. "I may copy that."

"Feel free to." Neal smiled indulgently, then added. "But I must admit this baby here wouldn't hurt a fly." Pointing the gun directly at the imposter's head through the door Alex hadn't yet closed, Neal pulled the trigger. Alex gasped, reaching for his hand as soon as he did, and fake Donovan closed his eyes, his whole body tensing – preparing for the a shot…that didn't come.

Seconds later, all the bound man felt was a stream of water on his nose. He opened his eyes in disbelief. Neal simply could not control his mirth.

"A water gun!" the imposter yelled. "You hijacked me with a mother fucking _water gun_?"

"Don't you feel absolutely stupid?" Neal chortled. Alex quickly slipped inside the van to silence the man's yells with tape. Once he was completely stripped of all moving/talking power, she came back out.

"A water gun, Neal?" she shoved the van door closed. "You are terrible."

"Violence requires no imagination, remember!" Neal put the gun back in his shoe. "I'll see you later, Alex. He disappeared into the shadows. Alex stood still for a moment, shaking her head at the complete enigma that was Neal Caffrey. She sent a text to Mozzie to meet her at the interrogation house, before climbing into the front of the van and driving off.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

It was pure pandemonium back at the club. The minute Peter saw smoke coming from the windows he called for back up and alerted the nearest fire station of the situation. Then he moved the surveillance van to a nearby alley and abandoned ship.

Something deep in his gut told him that this was all Neal's doing, but naturally he had no proof. Everyone was out of the club now and backup was sending them all home. The area was pretty much clear save for the few officers, Peter and the firefighters. The vicinity around the club stunk something fierce. It was like ten thousand rats had crawled into a sewer and died. Peter firmly held his handkerchief to his nose while looking around for his MIA CI.

The chief firefighter approached Peter. "This was the cause of the smoke, sir." He showed Peter the tiny lipstick holder in his palm. "There's dozens more just like it all around the room."

"Smells like my great aunt Myrtle." A passing officer joked to his colleagues. Peter eyed the offensive item.

"Someone wanted to create a diversion." He muttered to himself. "So there's no fire hazard then?" he added in a louder tone to the chief.

"No sir, not that we can see. We're still doing our routine checks but so far everything seems A-okay."

Peter nodded. "Thanks for letting me know. Put this back where you found it – he gestured to the lipstick holder – my evidence guys will bag it when they sweep the place." With a nod, the fire chief left to finish his work.

Peter resumed his search for Neal. He was about to pull up the CI's tracking data on his phone when someone tapped his shoulder. The FBI agent turned around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

"Neal!" he practically bellowed. Nearby officers looked their way. Peter waved them off in apology for the unexpected ruckus. "Where the hell where you?" he demanded of his younger partner in a much lower tone this time.

"Investigating the surrounding premises." Neal said promptly. "I saw a suspicious figure dash off that-a-way," he pointed in the general direction of the back of the club, "so I followed him."

"Oh you did now, did you? When I check your anklet is that what I'm going to see?"

"Absolutely." Neal replied without missing a beat. Poor Peter didn't stand a chance. Neal gleefully thought of 'Twitch' the young teen they'd employed around the same time he'd gotten his anklet. The kid was the best hacker Neal had ever met. He was constantly popping into the Fed's database without their knowledge.

Twitch's job was simple, access and track Neal's anklet data all day, everyday. Whenever Neal was going places he certainly wouldn't want Peter knowing about, or out of his radius even, Twitch simply altered the signal and bounced it back to show Neal somewhere to ought to be, and not where he shouldn't. Mozzie was the one who had found him and Neal honestly thought it was the best hire they'd ever done. When he wasn't focusing on Neal's anklet, Twitch was hacking into everything else Neal needed in order to keep eyes and ears around the city.

Traffic light cams, subway and street cams, various building security setups around Manhattan – everything. Neal had an empire, and he intended to know about any and everything that happened in _his_ city.

"Fine. Evidence will take care of everything else here. We're going back to headquarters. Donovan was here and someone nabbed him right from under my nose. This whole thing – Peter waved his hand at the smoking club – was a diversion. I got played, and I'm not happy."

"Calm down," Neal placated. "We'll figure this out." Peter gave him another suspicious look but didn't say anything.

Half an hour later they were back at the office. Reece Hughes was there too as well as Kyle Bancroft. This did not bode well. Neal's defenses went up immediately. He parked his heels by the door while Peter went to greet the senior agents.

"Reece, it's late what are you still doing here?" he nodded at Bancroft. "Sir."

"We're here because new intel just came up. This is highly classified Peter. Speak of it to no one." Hughes handed his agent a file. Peter flipped it open and quickly scanned the contents. From his position by the door, Neal tried to look inconspicuous while attempting to read over Peter's shoulder from so far away.

Peter's eyes slowly went round while reading the file. "Boss…this is…"

"Huge." Reece finished solemnly. Peter blinked rapidly, still reeling from what he'd just seen.

"Should I…"

"Show Caffrey? Yes. We could use his contacts in the underworld. Tell him to ask around, activate a few old alias, anything to help us find out who this guy is."

"Yes sir." Peter said numbly. Hughes clapped his shoulder then disappeared into his office with Bancroft. Peter signaled Neal to follow him. They went into the agent's office and Peter closed the door. Neal watched Peter pace for five long minutes before losing patience.

"Peter, this is ridiculous. What's wrong?" Peter stopped pacing. He stared Neal straight in the eyes.

"Neal…what I'm about to share with you…it's highly classified. If you tell anyone, even the little guy, I will throw you back in prison faster than you can wink. Do I make myself clear?"

Neal was momentarily taken aback. What on earth had Peter so riled up? "I…yes, we're clear." Peter took another moment before dropping the file in front of Neal.

"This is huge. Numerous base stations across the US, hacking systems, FBI and Interpol moles, pre-approved heists, money laundering and benefactor aid…it's organized White Collar crime, and it's all run by one person." Peter reached over Neal's shoulder to turn the file pages to the last page where a profile form was. It was completely blank save for a name at the top in capital letters. The square where mug shots usually went was empty with a question mark in it.

"This guy." Peter said slowly. "This guy is running an empire."

Neal stared at the page, a Cheshire cat smile blossoming across his face. It was a mercy that Peter couldn't see his expression. "They call him Big T." Peter continued. "As far as the FBI to Interpol, to the CIA and more is concerned, he's the most notorious and wanted criminal of all time. Neal, having finally managed to get himself under control, looked up to meet Peter's eyes. The agent stared right back at him. "Looks like you just lost your throne."

Neal's phone buzzed just then. "May I?" he gestured to the doors. Peter waved him off. Neal hasted out of the office and walked towards the front doors of the bullpen. He leaned on the wall in the hallway near the elevator once he was out and checked his messages. It was Mozzie.

Two: They're onto us Big T, you ready?"

Neal smirked, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Peter, Hughes and Bancroft – who were all now convened in the senior agents office gesturing wildly and obviously talking loudly.

Ready? Neal's smile grew ten times wider. Oh he was born ready.

**I seriously thought this chapter would never end. I planned it to only be 5k words; I have no idea where the rest came from lol. So I've sort of introduced Neal's empire. We'll get back to the FBI agent who was spying on him in the first chapter, in the next chapter. **

**Poor Peter has no idea, I almost feel sorry for him. Ah well, when dealing with an enigma like Neal Caffrey you can never know what to expect. I hope you guys like this chapter! Let me know what you think ^.^**

**Till next time!**

**~Amy**


	3. Chapter 3

**On the Side of Angels **

Hi guys, back again with another chapter. Terribly sorry for the long wait, I got very distracted with work and life in general lol, not to mention really lazy after a mini vacation a couple weeks ago. Anyhoo,Thanks so much for the feedback on the last two chapters. I really appreciate it! To all the new reviewers, I appreciate you too! ^.^ I also appreciate the typo spotting **RachelSummer**.

Guys, if you see a typo feel free to point it out like Rachel did. I do proofread but sometimes things escape my notice.

Ok, enough blabbing. Here we go! (:

**Chapter Three**

The next couple of weeks following the FBI's discovery over Big T were interesting to say the least. Peter had abandoned Donovan's case by handing it off to another agent in favor of pursuing bigger fish – Big T to be exact.

Neal sat with Peter in his office everyday watching the agent struggle to piece the mystery together, watched Diana and Jones –the only other members on the team privy to the situation – enter at different times with different leads that led nowhere – and just laughed to himself.

Hughes and Bancroft were blowing tons of FBI resources trying to locate the anonymous tipper who gave in the note about Big T. It was too bad for them that Neal had gotten to her first…

_**-Three weeks ago-**_

_Neal and Alex were crouched behind a dumpster in a small alley just off of Queen Street East. The smells coming from the garbage disposal were horrendous to say the least, and Alex refused to move her hand from covering her nose the whole time. _

"_This stinks more than my gas bombs." She snapped at Neal. _

"_Shh." Neal was also very much horrified by the smell, but he wasn't allowing it to cloud their main purpose of being there. _

"_How do you know he'll turn up?" Alex hissed in Neal's ear. Neal shook his head in alarm. _

"_How many times have I told you not to do that? You're getting your spittle all over me!"_

"_I don't spit when I talk!"_

"_You most certainly do!"_

"_Could both of you just shut up for a minute!" Mozzie's voice sounded over the microscopic walkie-talkies they had in their right ears. The tiny devices were harder to spot than contacts. Neal was always afraid they would slip into his ear canal and deafen him but Mozzie assured him the adhesive on the back of the devices was strong enough to stick to the outer ear and not budge. _

"_Is he coming?" Neal asked in response. Mozzie was on lookout from their black van parked a block down the street. They were using the same satellite technology as the FBI to track movements on the street. _

"_You mean she." Moz said. _

"_Oh, that changes things." Neal murmured. _

"_It doesn't change a thing." Both Alex and Mozzie immediately said with great force. Neal ignored them both. Completely abandoning the plan, he stood up with a flourish and straightened his suit. _

"_Neal!" Alex hissed, but he was gone. The woman in question was just turning into the alley. She was slight, with red hair and honey brown eyes. A long baton was in her hand and she appeared ready to bolt at any sign of trouble. _

"_Hello!" Neal called cheerfully. The woman jumped, her hand holding the baton rising up in front of her like a threat. _

"_Identify yourself." She said. Neal grinned. _

"_When we agreed to meet we said no names."_

_The woman visibly relaxed. She couldn't really see Neal so far in the shadows but the response was indeed the one she had agreed on with her source a couple weeks ago. _

"_Do you have any other information on Big T?" she asked. _

"_Yes, right here." Neal held out his hand in pretense of a folder being there. The woman stepped closer, reached out – and Neal grabbed her. Before she could scream he had her firmly against his chest with his hand covering her mouth. "Sara Ellis." He purred in her ear. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere. You're that insurance investigator who pokes her nose where it doesn't belong."_

_Sara struggled but to no avail. "Don't fight," Neal hushed, "Bring the van." He added to Moz over the walkie-talkie. Seconds later the black SUV was in front of them. Neal bundled a flailing Sara into the back while Alex darted out of the alley into the front seat. _

_Chloroform knocked Sara out immediately. Neal held a handkerchief that had been soaked in the substance, under her nose. As soon as she went limp he laid down a folded blanket and gently placed her on it. He may be a notorious criminal but Neal could never intentionally hurt a woman. _

_He did bind her wrists and cover her mouth with tape though. Woman or not, that was simply standard practice with all abductions. The whole ordeal only took a minute. Neal closed the doors and rapped on the partition to tell Moz to start driving. He sat and stared at Sara for the rest of the drive, contemplating what to do with her. He couldn't let her go and he couldn't kill her; he'd have to come up with something creative. _

Presently, Neal was walking along an almost deserted street in Park Slope enjoying the morning sun. The irony of being in Park Slope did not escape his notice. He had an umbrella under his arm and a newspaper in his hand. The sun may be shining but it was still overcast. Weather reports said they were expecting about three days of rain and heavy winds.

Neal appreciated the breathing room the quiet street offered. Instead of being shoulder to shoulder with people he was only passing someone every other minute. The air was crisp with a slight chill. Overhead, birds chirped and soared; ahead of him a black cat raced across the street.

Neal grinned at the sight. Had Mozzie been with him the small man would insist they turn around and go another way. Black cats crossing your path were bad luck Mozzie always said. His friend's paranoia was amusing.

"Morning!" a friendly young woman with a stroller greeted him. She was standing next to a lamppost refilling her babies snack bag. Neal immediately gave her a friendly smile in response. He could never resist a pretty face, even if she did have the baggage of a child.

"Morning." He stopped by the stroller and peered in. "Hello, who's this?"

"Her name's Carrie." The woman told him. "I'm Annabelle."

"Neal." The ever-flirtatious conman beamed. Carrie made a soft gurgling noise and Neal looked down once more. He gently held his finger in front of the babies face. The tiny girl grabbed the appendage in one swift move and held on for dear life. "Quite the grip she's got." Neal commented.

"Oh yes, she has her father's firm hand." Annabelle said. Neal didn't miss the sudden dark tone her voice had taken on.

"Not a nice guy?" he inquired.

"You could say that." Annabelle placed the now refilled snack bag back in the stroller. "It was nice meeting you, Neal."

"Pleasure was all mine." Neal replied cheerfully. "Have a good one." They parted company and Neal hastened to get to work. Hailing a cab and urging the man to race every yellow light they came upon still wasn't enough to get him there in time though.

Peter stormed up to him the moment he entered the bullpen. The taller man was decked out in a snazzy black suit that had to cost at least five thousand dollars. Neal whistled in surprise.

"Peter, what's the occasion, you finally taking me to dinner like I asked?" Peter rolled his eyes. "Kinda early in the day for that though." Neal continued, gesturing to the window and the obvious light streaming in. Peter rolled his eyes again.

"Cut the crap, Neal. I'm going undercover. The tailor's just making this suit fit better, and don't try to change the subject you know you're late, you know you're in trouble."

"I do not care to comment on anything you just said." Neal grinned. "But what do you mean you're going undercover, you're not working the Big T case anymore?"

"Of course I am. But we have no leads worth chasing right now so I'm doing the next best thing."

"Closing other cases, taking it one day at a time." Neal put in.

"Exactly." Peter affirmed. Moments later a short woman holding a mass of measuring tape appeared. She had blonde hair and a very thin frame. The sharp looking glasses she wore gave her the appearance of a buzzard.

"There you are." She snapped crossly at Peter. "You can't just run off in the middle of my fitting young man, I'm in a rush to get this suit finished!" Neal almost laughed at the sight of a shorter and obviously younger woman referring to Peter in such a manner. That's when the woman spied Neal. "I say, what cheekbones." In two seconds she was by Neal's side holding his face in a bony hand, twisting his head from side to side. "Could cut glass with these." She said appreciatively. Neal struggled free from her grip, grimacing when her long fingernails scratched him a little too hard for comfort.

"Neal Caffrey." He introduced himself. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Katarina Vermont." The lady shook his hand briskly. "Do you mind my asking, what agency are you from?"

"Neal's not an agent." Peter hastily cut in. Neal chuckled at his misunderstanding.

"She was not referring to anything like that." He told the befuddled man. "I'm represented by the S&C Agency." He added to Katarina. Peter's mouth fell open. S&C was the most prestigious modeling Agency in New York and they also had a place in LA too.

"What are you doing?" Peter mouthed furiously at Neal. Neal ignored him.

"Impressive, though I can certainly see how you managed to secure a spot there." Katarina ran appreciative eyes up and down Neal's body. "I assume they sent you over to be Peter's escort of sorts tonight?"

"Sure did." Neal grinned at Peter over Katarina's head. The man looked ready to blow a gasket.

"Well good luck. Sounds like a dangerous mission. Hope what they're paying you is worth it." Katarina turned away but after a moment spun back to Neal. "I have an opening for a fashion show I'm putting on in a couple weeks. I think you're the perfect fit. Interested?"

"Wow, thank you. I'm very interested."

"I'll call your agency and set it up then." Katarina got busy measuring Peter again and Neal escaped to the FBI agent's office to wait for the coming storm. Sure enough, as soon as Katarina was done, Peter made a beeline straight for his office where Neal was comfortably settled in his desk chair.

"Get out of my chair." Peter ground out. Neal quickly moved into the seat on the other side of the desk and dazzled Peter with his old Caffrey smile once the agent sat down.

"You just lied to the one woman currently holding this whole operation together." Peter huffed. "She got us an in to this party and you're about to screw it up. Tell me right now why I shouldn't put you on house arrest for the remainder of the week to ensure you don't do anything as ridiculous as this again."

"Peterrrrr, relax." Neal drawled. "You going undercover without me? Now that's just ludicrous. This way you have backup for whatever it is you've gotten yourself into."

"My team is very good at what they do. I don't need you by my side to protect me."

"Jones and Diana spend all their time in the van." Neal rolled his eyes. "If someone pulls a gun on you what are they going to do, beam the person with their supersonic x-ray vision through the TV screens?"

"Cute, but not enough. You're benched for this. Everything is going to hell once Katarina calls that agency you _'work for'_ and finds out you really don't."

"I already took care of that." Said Neal. "Sylvia owes me a favour. She'll confirm I'm a model at the agency to anyone who asks." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in the process.

"Do I want to know why Sylvia Plath of all people, owes Neal Caffrey a favour?"

"No I don't think you do." Neal innocently inspected his nails. "So how about you fill me in on this case I'm now part of? As your escort, I really should know what I'm walking into."

Peter hesitated for so long that Neal wondered if he really had been serious about benching him. But then Peter inhaled, looked towards the ceiling for a moment, and then pulled a file from his desk drawer and tossed it in front of his CI.

"Edward Mullings. He's the CEO of –"

"Mullings Incorporated, one of the most highly respected jewelry stores in all the US." Neal finished. Peter nodded.

"It's no secret that he prefers the company of men, therefore my undercover alias is Peter Dawson, a powerful business man looking to share stock with Mullings' company who also enjoys the company of men…mainly escorts."

"Escorts, because you have a lovely wife back home who can never know anything about your secret life." Neal added in. "Genius, this way you can look shady without needing to give yourself a false rap sheet."

"Right, because a rap sheet would be a bit too much. This however, is just right."

"Being untrustworthy in the real world makes you trustworthy in Mullings." Neal grinned. "Peter, you never cease to amaze me. What does Elizabeth think of all this?"

"Well she certainly was pleased it wasn't a female escort." Peter mumbled. "But now that its you I'm sure she will be thrilled."

"Why? Because it's literally impossible that I could ever have a romantic interest in you?" Neal meant for his words to be playful, he was only flirting randomly after all – but Peter blinked rapidly, coughed and quickly hurried them on from the subject.

Neal blinked. What was that all about? Peter looked almost sickened by the idea that Neal could ever find him desirable. Maybe he was more homophobic than Neal thought. No, no, Diana was gay after all. Peter would never be uncomfortable over something as petty as someone's personal preference. So what was it then? Peter had to know that Neal flirted with him in jest. He didn't like Peter that way – ew.

"Anyways, the gala we're attending starts at nine but probably won't fully be in swing until ten. That's when we will arrive. It's taking place at one of his many Mansions. _Cloverfield_ to be exact." Peter said.

"Fashionably late. Good idea. Is Mullings throwing this party, or…?"

"It's Mullings." Peter affirmed. He spent the next ten minutes taking Neal over every little detail about the case and fully explaining what they planned to do. After that, Neal spent the remainder of the day in Peter's office again, going over case files. Agents filtered in from time to time, each with news on Big T that was of no help, and Neal just continued to smile.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

A couple blocks from the FBI building, a meeting was taking place in a grungy alleyway between two men wearing oversized, floppy hats.

"Explain to me again why we had to wear these getups?" one of the men hissed.

"To blend in with the tourists." The other man replied. He nonchalantly lit a cigar and placed it between chapped lips. He inhaled deeply. "What's the news on Caffrey?"

"He's going undercover tonight with Burke."

"Eh, well that ruins our plans of nabbing him from his home."

"What do you want with him anyways, Keller?" Matthew Keller, literally the blue-collar version of Neal Caffrey, tossed his still lit cigar onto the ground.

"I'll be blunt, bud. I want him dead. If I ever get my hands on him, the next time Burke finds him will be in the Hudson river, sleeping with the fishes."

The man with Keller shifted uneasily. "I dunno, Keller. Murder ain't really my thing."

"Look fed, you want your money, you find a way to grab Neal Caffrey tonight from this undercover job. What is it anyways?"

"He's pretending to be an escort for Burke." The man replied tonelessly. Keller chuckled.

"Serving the government in literally every way possible, huh Caffrey. Find a way to abduct him tonight, fed. You do that and I'll give you your goddamn money."

"The two mil we agreed on?" the federal agent in question demanded. Keller nodded, gesturing randomly.

"Yea buddy, that." The agent shifted some more. He didn't want to be the reason someone died, even if that someone was a criminal just like Keller. He needed the money though, badly.

"Fine." He said at last. "I do this and you give me my money and never try to contact me again."

"Scouts honor." Keller mockingly crossed his heart. They nodded to each other before going their separate ways.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

"I don't like this," was the first thing Mozzie said when he came over and found Neal getting ready for the Mullings event. He flopped onto a chair at Neal's dinning table and watched him pace.

"Relax, Moz. I go undercover all the time." Neal adjusted the towel that was slipping dangerously low on his hips and perused the clothing options before him. Spread over the kitchen tabletop were a variety of dress shirts, waistcoats, pants, jackets and cufflinks.

"This one." Mozzie pointed to a horrible purple print shirt. Neal had no clue how it even got in his pile of choices. Must have gotten double hooked onto the hangers he'd taken up earlier.

"That's the worst shirt I've ever seen in my life." Neal dismissed him. "You and your thing for prints, it's horrendous."

"If you don't want it I'll take it then." Moz snatched up the shirt with a wide grin. Neal rolled his eyes. He decided on a long sleeved ivory dress shirt, black waistcoat, tailored black pants that fit him like a dream and his slim black jacket. A purple Italian silk tie with gold cufflinks finished the look.

"If anything goes wrong I get the apartment." Moz told him. "And I take over your empire."

"Good thing I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." Neal laughed. His phone chimed.

**Peter Burke: **_Get your butt downstairs now! I've been waiting for ten minutes!_

**Neal Caffrey:** _You can't rush fashion, Peter. Anyways I'm on my way now._

"I'll be back in no time, Moz, save some wine for me." Neal hurriedly pulled on his shoes and made for the door.

"Au revoir Mon frère. Mai vous vous reposer dans la paix!"

"Je ne meurs pas aujourd'hui!" Neal replied cheerfully. The door swung shut behind him and he was off.

When Neal reached the front doors June stopped him to invite him to dinner the following day. Neal accepted and graciously thanked her for the thoughtful gesture.

"Oh it's no trouble dear." June cooed. "I have barely seen you all month, it's time to reconnect." Neal hugged her.

"Thanks, June."

June gently patted his back. "Now go, Peter's been outside for quite sometime. He seems upset." Neal peeped through the glass doors and spied Peter in his Taurus parked by the sidewalk.

"Looks a bit purple in the face. Clearly you're right." June was amused. She told Neal just as much by swatting his arm.

"Try to stay out of trouble tonight please. I'd like you in one piece for dinner tomorrow."

"I'll try." Neal promised on his way out the door. He laughed to himself when Peter threw his arms in the air once he'd spotted him. "Evening, Peter." Neal greeted when he slid into the car beside the irate agent.

"You have no goddamn shame." Peter growled. "Fifteen minutes now you've kept me waiting."

"I told you, you simply can't rush fashion." Neal beamed. "Besides, how do I look?" Peter glanced quickly at him.

"Fine." He grunted.

"Pfft. Just fine?" Neal rolled his eyes. "Peter, I'm going to be the hottest thing at this party and you know it."

"Vanity is not a good look on you." Peter told him.

"Sour grapes." Neal mumbled.

"I beg your pardon."

"Admit it," Neal teased. "You're just upset because you thought your five thousand dollar suit would outdo me this time."

"I am not." Peter said firmly. He braked a little harder than necessary as a stoplight came into view.

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"No."

"Yes."

"Nope."

"Yup."

"FINE!" Peter finally stopped his charade. "How on earth did you get that suit anyways? Do you know how many strings the FBI had to pull to get me this one?" Neal smirked, smoothing a hand over the breast of his ten thousand dollar, custom made by William Fioravanti, super 220-merino wool suit.

"Ask no questions and you'll get no lies. You know I'm not telling you how I got this suit, Peter."

Peter huffed. "You just couldn't let me wear a suit more expensive than yours huh. You just had to beat the competition."

"Old habits die hard." Neal shrugged. He changed the topic then, to steer them away from muddy waters. For the remainder of the ride he entertained Peter with stories of his past, none of which Peter believed were true but he listened with rapt attention anyways.

"You absolutely did not zip line from the apartment I cornered you in when I cased you to Italy." Peter was saying as they pulled up to a massive mansion.

"I absolutely did, Peter. Shot a grappling hook to the other building and went out the window."

"Such, lies. You have no shame."

"Who said they were lies?" Neal glanced out his window and whistled. "This guy sure knows how to live."

"Cashes in at around thirty million." Peter also stared at the massive six-story mansion with rather wide eyes. "I'd be lucky to make that much in a life time."

"You do alright for yourself." Neal unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the door handle.

"The car hasn't stopped!" Peter yelped, slamming on the brakes. "I swear I need a childproof lock for you."

"Relax, we were moving slower than a tortoise with a broken leg." Neal slid out of the car before Peter could reply. He smiled charmingly at the valet standing at attention. The guy blushed. Oh yea, definitely gay. At an Edward Mullings party though, one could expect that half the crowd there would be playing for the other team.

Peter appeared next to Neal and handed his keys to the valet. "For your trouble." He added, smoothly slipping the lad a fifty.

"Thank you, sir!" the valet exclaimed. He hurried off to park the car with renewed enthusiasm. Neal was amused.

"Someone taught you high-class etiquette." He commented.

"I don't need to be taught such things. Just because I don't act all pretentious doesn't mean I don't know how to be high-class."

"Duly noted." Neal flipped his fedora onto his head before sliding his hands in his pockets with his signature Caffrey smile. The men standing around them didn't fail to notice this flamboyant display and they leered appreciatively. Peter frowned, not liking the looks on some of their faces.

"Come on." He grabbed Neal's arm and tugged him towards the mansion doors. Neal allowed himself to be led, scooping the place for escape routes should the evening go sour.

Edward met them at the wide front doors with his arm wrapped around another man's waist. The man was tall, handsome and dark haired. He looked Russian, which sounded weird in Neal's mind when he thought it. Edward himself was a blond fellow, with baby blue eyes that were cold as ice.

"Peter Dawson." Edward extended his hand. Peter met the shake with a firm, confident grip. Edward seemed impressed. "Welcome to Cloverfield Mansion."

"Thank you. I appreciate the invitation." Peter gently pulled Neal forward. "This is my escort for the evening, George Hastings."

"George, very nice to meet you." Edward offered Neal his hand too.

"Pleasure's all mine." Neal smiled.

"My, my you certainly are a pretty one." Edward released Neal's hand as if it were the last thing in the world he wanted to do. "Isn't he Anatoly?"

The dark haired man, apparently named Anatoly, nodded. So he was the silent type, Neal mused. It would be hard to extract information from him in an interrogation. Tight-lipped men like Anatoly were so secretive for one of two reasons. Either they were being paid loads of money to stay quiet, or they were muscle for hire; and the rules of either job were shut-up, stay alert and stay out of the way until needed.

"Please do come in. I hope you enjoy the natural splendor the place has to offer." Edward graciously gestured them into the room. "I will find you later, Peter. We can talk then. Enjoy."

Peter released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, briefly watching Edward as he walked away. "That Anatoly guy has a bad vibe about him." He whispered to Neal. Neal nodded in agreement.

The foyer they stood in was elegantly decorated. A massive chandelier with intricate snowflake charms hung above them. The superbly cleaned wood flooring gleamed like a shiny penny and was covered in most parts, with large red rugs.

A staircase stood to the left a little further in. Tasteful white and red flower streamers adorned the winding rails. Soft jazz played over loudspeakers no doubt artfully concealed at the side of ceiling corners, and waiters dressed to the nines wondered around offering hour d'oeuvres and flutes glass filled with white wine.

"Fancy shamancy sort of gathering." Peter sniffed. "Why must rich people be so pretentious?"

"Hey, not all rich people are pretentious." Neal slipped his arm through Peter's. "Acting my part." He said at the FBI agent's mildly alarmed expression. The pair slowly worked the room, stopping every now and then for a chat with other guests. They met many interesting people, including a man from Dubai who considered himself a _'Modern day Sinatra.' _

"Delusions of grandeur that one." Neal mumbled when they ended pleasantries and walked away. Peter replied with something equally snarky causing them both to erupt into a fit of giggles. Just as soon as they started they stopped, quickly re-gathering themselves back under control.

Having worked the living room, they ambled into the sitting room where large bookshelves lined the opposite side of the wall. Comfortable brown armchairs were generously spaced around the room. It looked like a room a rare book scholar would have on their premises. Certainly not the vibe they got from Edward at all.

A British couple advanced upon them a little after they entered. Both men introduced themselves as Bernie and Mark. Bernie worked in forensics and Mark was an event planner. Peter almost mentioned that his wife owned her own event planning building but caught himself just in time. Neal just thought it interesting that Bernie was a forensic scientist.

Several couples later and Neal was ready to call it quits. Peter was right, most of the people at the party were obnoxious, stuck-up pretentious freaks, and coming from him, that was pretty…huge. They were saved from talking to a most disagreeable couple when Edward walked in. He responded graciously to the salutations sent his way by the majority of the room while making his way over to Peter and Neal. Gently he touched Peter's elbow when he arrived.

"It is almost time for the dance music to begin. While the guests are distracted with such amusements we should discuss…things." He said quietly, so quietly in fact, that Neal, close as he was to Peter, hardly heard a word.

Peter nodded, discreetly tapping his watch to let Jones and Diana know this was it. "Wait for me here." Peter said to Neal. Neal nodded like an obedient escort, and then disappeared the instant his handler was out of sight.

The CI made his way through the slightly crowded rooms towards the back for some fresh air. He paused on the patio where not many other guests were. Only two men and a waiter were outside. Music drifted out through the open casement windows but it was still peaceful enough for Neal to gather his wits about him once more.

The night air was clean and crisp. Neal inhaled sharply. It was rare for city air to be so pleasant, must be all the trees in the garden creating the pleasing wind.

A charming courtyard stood not far off with a marble statue water fountain in the middle. Being the curious person he was, Neal immediately decided to go up and inspect the statue to see if it was of any value. It was most unfortunate for him really. Usually Neal was a very attentive person, however with his attention fully locked onto the statue that he was examining with great interest, Neal didn't hear the person creeping up behind him until it was too late.

The sound of a bat hitting bone sounded through the silent night. It was not loud enough to attract attention from inside where the music was playing merrily as ever. Neal slumped to the ground in a dead faint, his hat rolling away in the slight breeze. His attacker lowered the bat that had a bit of blood near the top where it had connected with the back of Neal's skull.

"That was easier than I thought it would be." The man said aloud in surprise. He'd expected more of a fight really. Perhaps Caffrey wasn't as good as everyone liked to make out. The man hoisted Neal over his shoulder in a fireman grip and left the premises as quickly as possible. An idling black mini van waited for him at the back gates.

He shoved Neal into the trunk non-too gently, did all the abduction precautions, then closed the doors and slid into the front. Like a ghost from nowhere, he and Neal Caffrey disappeared without a trace.

**Ok, I wanted this chapter to be longer but honestly, writer's block hit. Perhaps I'll gather more inspiration when I start on the next chapter. There's not much else I could put in this chapter without it becoming too long winded anyways – plus I want to keep the suspense for the next chapter. Poor Neal is going to be in a bit of a rough situation; he'll find his way out though, as always – but its not going to be BAM, one chapter and it's fixed. **

**I'm also sure this thing is rife with typos because I'm tired (another factor I can attribute towards my writer's block) so if you see any, point them out. I did not proofread (lazy I know) but all I can think about right now is my warm, cozy bed. **

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you think! I promise I will update within the week. Till next time guys! (:**

**-Amy **


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